


Sin and Loathing in San Tristen

by Domimagetrix



Series: Gentili e Sculacciati [5]
Category: Runescape
Genre: Adult Language, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bug Flirts And It's A Disaster, Crimes & Criminals, Frank References to Sex, Gambling references, Implied/Referenced Sex, Mobster AU, Multi, Organized Crime, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, physical violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 00:46:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13306827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Domimagetrix/pseuds/Domimagetrix
Summary: Razwan is charged by Zamorak with a mission, and is introduced to several key members of Umbrata - including an old flame.





	Sin and Loathing in San Tristen

“He’s _how old?_ For fuck’s sake, I’ll kill him by accident.”

“No one’s quite certain what his age is - or was - on that side. Some say it’s eighty, others swear he’s over two centuries old.”

I coughed. “I’ve never fucked someone to death, Zamorak. I don’t want to start now.”

“Whatever method you choose, your primary target is the Wanderer.” Zamorak’s warm blue eyes met mine directly; he’d stopped flinching at my predilection for invective years ago. “You two have a history together, after a fashion. One distinct from other World Guardians’.”

“Who is he? What history? _How old is he?”_ I had a past with one of the Umbrata?

“Intimate history. With Sliske himself, too, and he will be your second target should your relationship with the first go unmirrored here.” Zamorak sifted fingers through his auburn hair and sighed. “I’m told his memories may not be so inclusive of Gielinor as yours or the other World Guardians’. It may prove useful if he does remember anything of you, though.”

I leaned forward in the chair. “How much do we know about the Wanderer?”

He leaned back in his own chair. “Not as much as I’d like. On this side of things, at least.” He folded his arms over his chest, bunching his crisp shirt and wrinkling the black tie that lay over it. “He’s in his sixties here, but I’m told the benefits of his former activities bled over in the Shift. His old pursuits still strengthen him even if he isn’t precisely what he once was. Don’t expect age to detract from his ability. He’s dangerous.”

I toyed with knives inserted cleverly along my sleeve. “Fuck a sixty-year-old man and one of the Mahjarrat.” I felt no bitterness. Absolutely none. “Do I fuck this other World Guardian, too?”

Zamorak snorted. “No. Befriend him.” His tone softened. “You needn’t use that method if you prefer not to, Razwan. I have never made it a requirement.”

I shrugged. “It gets things done. It gets me done, too.”

He canted his head to the side. “I don’t argue either of those things. With Pict, however, your goal is to befriend only. I chose you specifically because my sources suggest you have the highest likelihood of accomplishing that.”

That gave me pause. I’d never been voted most likely to earn a friend before and the idea struck me as patently absurd. “If you say so.” I held up a finger with each name. “Wanderer, Sliske, Pict?”

He nodded. “Yes. I’m still collecting information on those as well as another World Guardian, but you needn’t concern yourself with that last until we know more. For now, you go to the Gray Ring under the guise of one seeking employment. Discover whatever there is to discover about Honeycomb’s whereabouts from them, but do not give away your allegiance to me or compromise your position there. Minimal risk. ‘On the sneak,’ as it’s said.”

He shifted, hands resting on polished cherry armrests. “You understand what I’m asking of you.”

“I do.”

Zamorak looked grim. “There are some whose company I recommend you avoid at all costs.” He held up a finger. “Valkyries. V and any of his will do away with you in short order, whether you’re discovered to have ties with Sliske or with me.” He held up a second finger. “The Raven King.”

I blinked at the ridiculous title, lips quirking in the promise of laughter. “The what?”

He shook his head. “We know little, but the sole agent I’d sent to track him has disappeared entirely. No corpse, not so much as a thread from her jacket. Even Zemouregal doesn’t clean up with that kind of efficiency. Take every precaution against engagement. I refuse to lose any more assets to him and he’s yet to pose a threat to my interests beyond that loss. Steer clear. Understood?”

I stood, awaiting dismissal, and nodded. He stood with me.

Something serious occupied his expression as he looked at me. He held a hand out and I reached to meet it with mine.

It clasped his forearm in lieu of his hand.

He clasped mine in return.

A ghost of a smile curved the corner of his mouth - and the neat moustache - upward. “Strength through chaos, Razwan.”

The phrase was strange. The phrase was familiar. I knew the response and didn’t know why I knew.

“Power greater through the challenge, Zamorak.”

 

_…………_

 

I didn’t know what I’d been expecting of a Mahjarrat-run casino, but it hadn’t been this.

The Gray Ring looked the way most casinos did on the inside. Open floors staged in gentle descent to various tables, a roulette wheel, and two stations offering a small array of edibles for Sliske’s patrons. Where the floor ascended again, windows offered cash-ins between a bar and a band occupying a stage. Swing music invited dancing, and a few accepted the invitation with whirling dress fringes and swiveling feet.

Dotting the place in unobtrusive fashion were silver masks in the comedy/tragedy theme, some below the cards tables, some by the cash-in points, others represented in soft silver embroidery below stiff uniform collars. More reflective silver caught my eye - convex mirrors where wall met ceiling.

Men in suits stood idly where the mirrors would offer the widest view of the room. While lacking in telltale embroidery and dressed as most patrons were, there was an alertness in their manner the real customers didn’t share.

_Hello, security._

Though the information was probably useless, I marked where the not-patrons stood. Better too many weapons than too few, and knowledge could be every bit as lethal as knives.

An impact that nearly bowled me over interrupted my surveillance. I staggered, and the carpet around my feet was littered with boxed decks of cards.

My hapless assailant - a short, slightly pudgy man of middling years and poorly-fit clothes - stooped and swept the boxes together in a pile while battering me with a flood of words. “Miss-ma’am-sorry! Suchaklutz-shouldalooked I didn’t look at all, stupid, just _stupid_ and sosorrylady-”

I crouched next to him, gathering decks and stacking them neatly next to him. “It’s fine, it’s okay.” _Fuck’s sake, stop yammering. I’m supposed to blend in._

The squat man piled card boxes on his tray and stood, looking at me for the first time. His eyes widened behind wire-frame glasses. “Oh! I have, uh… that is, I can offer, uh…”

My choice in attire had been the right one. Heels, hose, and tight black short pants gave me the illusion of height, and the white shirt with black vest completed the look. It was a waitress’s or evening entertainer’s outfit, one that would’ve wiped me clean of cash had Zamorak not foot the bill for it along with a handful of others. The ensemble had done its job; I had a new admirer among the staff here.

_Let’s hope it does the same to the Wanderer._

I interrupted his stammering, studiously avoiding staring at the two thick, gray hairs pointing out and down toward his eyes. I smiled. “Can you offer me some directions to the cat doing the hiring around here?”

“BUG!” He blurted it and hiccuped. “I’m Bug. I’ll take you right to ‘im! You come with me, Misslady.” He set his tray on a stand near the door and held out his arm. “I’ll make sure you get where you need to be, right enough!”

Feeling a little absurd, I rested a hand on the proffered arm and walked with him down to the floor. Our path to the back of the casino wasn’t direct; he weaved us around until we’d been seen by most of the staff and patrons. Bug’s other hand would reach up periodically to pat my hand on his arm.

I hadn’t been this uncomfortable since listening to Bilrach’s lecture on Diavolo’s expenditures, but the little man seemed determined to parade me through the least efficient path possible. Though impatient, I let him lead me through swaths of people, narrowly avoiding a few collisions with patrons tossing dice and shouting numbers at gilded wheels. We did make our way to the rear of the establishment eventually, where a quieter hallway secreting several doors offered relief from the bustle and noise of the floor. The lighting here was softer. Had it not been for my overeager companion, I might’ve breathed a sigh of relief.

“Here you are, Misslady!” He pointed to the door farthest from us. “That’s the boss’s own office. This’un is where they do the hirin’.” He pointed to a door near our left with “Hiring” engraved in brass on the front.

_Thanks, Bug. I had no fuckin’ idea._

Freeing my hand and nodding to him, I smiled and hoped it didn’t look as pained as I felt. “Thanks, Bug. You’re a real peach. I’m going to go see about getting a job. Wish me luck?”

“OH!” He stammered a bit before gathering himself. “I, uh… goodluck, Misslady! You’ll knock ‘em dead, huh? Hey, say… y’know a kiss is supposed to be good luck?”

I devoted an ulcer-inducing level of force to not laughing or backing away in alarm. Instead, I shook my head and smiled sadly at him. “We just met, Bug.” I nearly choked. “My reputation would never recover.”

Bug nodded energetically, somehow managing to look both excited and ashamed. “Right! Right, no, perfectly reasonable, yeah! Hey, if you _do_ get hired, we’ll be working with each other every day!”

I shot him a finger gun with one hand and waved with the other, side-stepping toward the Hiring door. “Here’s hoping, but I’ve got to get in there and have my interview first. Nice to meet you!”

Looking moments away from a heart attack, he squeaked. “You, too!”

He scuttled off. I sighed, feeling tension drain from my shoulders. Here was genuinely hoping I could avoid Bug if I was hired.

The feeling of relief was short-lived. A voice like cigarette-burned, roughened silk addressed me from behind. “More share crop for the unrefined lot upstairs. Peddle your filth somewhere else, harlot.”

I spun, hissing, eyeing the pale wraith of a man who’d spoken. “Who the hell-”

“Give it a rest, Ahrim. Quit snapping your cap at the hires.”

Another suit, this one chiseled and wider in the chest, jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Your job’s to keep an eye on the craps tables. Not supposed to bother the ladies anymore, either, remember? His orders.” Green eyes rolled toward the door at the end of the hall and back to Ahrim.

The other man muttered under his breath and marched back out to the casino. The larger man turned back to me and offered an artless smile along with his hand. I took it, noting the crossed hammers tattooed on the triangle of flesh between his thumb and index finger.

His voice was as good-natured as his smile. “Torag. Sorry about him.” He rolled his eyes back in the direction Ahrim had left. “Used to be a man of the cloth before some tangle with a dame got him booted from the holy ranks. Guess staying a stiff-ass was part of his severance package.”

Our hands parted and I smiled, grateful. “Thanks.”

Torag cast a glance over his shoulder. “No sweat.” He turned back to me. “Look, if he gets to bothering you again, just steer over to the first blackjack table toward the front. I’ll handle him from there.”

“Will do.” I looked back at the brass plate with “Hiring” engraved on it. “Time to see a man about a horse.”

He nodded, the smile bleeding into disquiet. “Good luck, kid. Gonna need it in there.”

Torag made his way back down to the floor, leaving me alone in the hallway.

I turned to the door and knocked.

 

………….

 

A voice - or a tumble of gravel that’d managed to produce words by pure chance - barked from behind the door. _“Come in!”_

Turning the handle and stepping inside, I was greeted by a tidy office done in muted forest greens and plums. A great behemoth of polished wood masqueraded as a desk in the middle. Two chairs sat facing it on my side, both still bearing the near-homogeneous sheen of untried leather.

The other side played host to a single chair occupied by the Wanderer.

My primary target was every bit as bald as promised, and pale in a decidedly unnatural way. Veins too dark to be suppliers of healthy blood rose close to the surface of his scalp in places, and the overall impression was that of something born in a lightless place transported to this office bedecked in pinstripes and a tie.

He looked up as I stepped in, and sharp blue eyes pinned me in place. “Did Sliske send you?”

I blinked at him. “No. I’m here for a job. Bahir? Appointment for six?”

The Wanderer’s eyes narrowed and his jaw worked, initiating a rhythmic tic at his temple. “Fair enough.” He gestured curtly to the chair with an open hand, sparing a glance toward a green scarf on the desk next to him before training his gaze on me again. “I wasn’t prepared for you to be on time and don’t normally hire for the upstairs, but given Sliske’s perpetual _occupation_ with his new partner, I suppose that falls to me. Sit.”

I did as bid. The leather was cool to the touch, and it occurred to me that the Wanderer’s office was noticeably chilled compared to the casino and hallway.

_Why is everything in this country so fucking cold?_

Throughout his questioning, I stuck to the variation of the Story that had served me after I’d scored my first kill at the tender age of fourteen. _Came to America with my parents. They died when the factory collapsed. Bartender took me in until I was of age. Yes, I know what “on the rocks” means. Yes, I know what_ else _it means. Yes, I’ve been cleared by a doctor. No disease. No, no drugs._ As he asked his questions, his eyes settled less on the sheet in front of him and more on me. I didn’t understand the expression. It seemed considering, but there was something too perceptive in it that made me want to reach for the knives in my sleeve.

The Wanderer stood, and I was introduced to the enormity of the man. He wasn’t broad or thin - rather a fit medium that bespoke attention to physique with regular exercise - but he was _tall._ He moved around the desk and stood too close for comfort, beckoning upward with a pale hand. “Stand up.”

I stood, still battling the urge to go for my blades and puncture vulnerable organs in his midsection. His fingers went to my jaw, angling my head to the side. His voice was thoughtful as I warred with myself to stay still. “I can’t find fault with anything in the history you’ve given me. Nothing vague, nothing questionable. I daresay this is the tidiest interview in the history of interviewing.”

Before I could respond, the hand at my jaw descended and gripped my neck. He pulled until I stood face-to-chest with him and he growled. “It’s also pure bullshit. _Who are you and who do you work for?”_

The Wanderer’s hand was tight enough to arrest me, but not enough to deprive me of air completely. It was also…

...a familiar feeling.

_What the fuck? Draw those knives and drive some steel into this asshole before he ends you, idiot!_

Instead, I put a hand on the chest in front of me and toyed with his tie.

He seemed as puzzled as I was by my response. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The hand loosened its grip, so I gathered my entire supply of wisdom and spoke. “You?”

The Wanderer looked entirely nonplussed. His hand sank slightly and a thumb stroked my collarbone above the shirt. “I’ve met you before. I _know you._ You and _it was with Zamorak!”_

Fingers wound into my shirt and he flung me backward. I slid across the desk, scattering papers and knocking a desk lamp to the floor, hearing the bulb shatter in a fragile, tinkling burst before I landed painfully in his chair on the other side. The armrest dug into my ribs and I hissed, scrabbling to right myself.

The Wanderer took a step around the desk and the door to his office opened, admitting another man-

_-not a man that’s a Mahjarrat what the fuck is wrong with his eyes why oh fuck-_

-into the room with us.

While I understood Zamorak had other Mahjarrat in his employ - had actually _seen_ Moia divest herself of guise and appear as her half-Mahjarrat self - the fact that human appearance was less taxing on them than maintaining their own forms here meant I hadn’t seen one display their full glory.

Until now.

_Bela Lugosi would love those teeth._

This had to be Sliske. He rose an eyebrow ridge - there were no eyebrows to speak of, nor hair anywhere else I could see, although the gray of his face was highlighted at brow and jawline with lighter markings - at the Wanderer. His voice was absinthe and toasted sugar. “Now what do we have here, love? If you insist on being this noisy in your hiring process I’m going to have to pad these walls for sound absorption.” He winked at me. “Welcome to the Gray Ring, pet.” He made a deft little gesture with one hand toward my general direction and it reminded me of a magician’s flair. “Usually my hiring manager sits in that particular spot, but we’ve been known to use idiosyncratic methods where employment is concerned.”

The Wanderer interrupted him. “I haven’t hired her. I suspect she’s a spy for Diavolo and was about to dispense of her-”

 _“Nonsense,_ love.” Crisp lines on his black suit sharpened his frame, one shoulder bunching slightly as he leaned it against the doorjamb. “I took the liberty of checking this one’s background, and she’s clean as a whistle. Well,” his eyes went half-lidded as I stared unashamedly at him, “‘clean’ in all the ways that suit our interests, hmmm?”

_Sliske checked me. And I came out clean? Zamorak’s team of background fabricators is good, but…_

Were they _that_ good?

My interviewer looked one part chastised and two parts indignant. “If you’re doing the checks already, why am I conducting interviews?”

Sliske _tsked_ at him. “You can never be too certain, love. You’re a failsafe in the wholly unlikely event I miss something.” He smiled at me and I swallowed. “Nothing missed here, though.” The hot amber-gold rings of his irises moved in the surrounding blackness, resting again on the Wanderer. “If you’re still needlessly suspicious, you could always do with an assistant. Someone to help satisfy that urge of yours to keep someone underfoot.”

Human glared at Mahjarrat, but the Wanderer’s voice lost some of its stiffness. “I don’t have a way to interview her for that position.”

Mahjarrat winked at human. “Devise something. If you don’t have the creative capacity, send her to me.” He looked at me once more, appraising. “I’m sure I can come up with a suitable way to gauge her ability.”

I did a swift mental calculation of likely proportions given Sliske’s height.

_That… will fucking hurt._

The thought wasn’t anywhere near enough to deter me.

Sliske closed the door behind him, and the Wanderer stood facing away for several seconds before turning and coming to stand next to me. “You’re in my bloody chair.”

I snarled. “You _fucking threw me here,_ or did that particular fact bounce off that chrome dome of yours?”

He gave me an odd look. “I may have been a bit overzealous. Still, Sliske isn’t wrong. I suspect you’re not what you seem, and I _could_ do with a personal assistant. The last one was a bit... disappointing.”

Standing and turning face-to-chest with him again, I looked up. “And just what makes you think I want _that_ position now, Your Overbearance?”

He failed to collapse in awe of my intellectual magnificence. “One - that is neither my name nor my title here, and wisecracking earns you no favors with me. Two,” he stepped in until there was no space between us, and I felt fingers winding in my hair, “whether or not you are a spy, I don’t think you’re in a situation where you can afford to refuse any _positions_ with me.”

I swallowed again, mouth dry. “Fair enough. So what do I do right now?”

“Now?” He smiled, deepening the hard lines bracketing his mouth. “For now, you remove every one of those knives lining your shirtsleeves. And put them on the desk. For each one you fail to produce freely, I intend to test another _position.”_

There were twelve knives, six in each sleeve.

I removed none of them freely.

 

………..

 

It was two days before I overheard the first promising bit of conversation as I carried reports and invoices from the Wanderer’s office to other offices both inside and outside the casino. I was about to knock on Sliske’s door when the Mahjarrat’s voice filtered through.

“I’m aware. Just as well as I’m aware how desperately the others want to undo it. But the Shift? This world? I have no intention of returning to Gielinor. _They’re all here,_ don’t you see, and with fractured memories enough that I can persuade most of them to me.”

Silence. I rose my hand to knock again and paused just as swiftly when he spoke again.

“I know about Mirroring, what it means. But do _you_ see it, my dear brother? Do you see the _divergence?_ This world is my chance. _Our_ chance. We know what’s coming. I know _he’s_ coming, but I have _them._ And that’s going to make all the difference.”

I turned and walked back to the Wanderer’s office, standing outside the door.

_I have to get back to Zamorak._


End file.
